Bits and Pieces
by LonelyBibliophile
Summary: Just things that strike me as I watch the movies and remember the books.
1. Chapter 1

_Obligatory Disclaimer: I own nothing - it's all J.K. Rowling's._

1 - Neville

He knows it was a mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"CRUCIO!" the professor roars, and the spider wrenches – that's the word that pops into his head – _wrenches_ and shrieks and –

He sees, in his mind's eye, his parents – his parents wrenched and twisted and screaming, screaming, and he tries to look away, look _anywhere_ else, shut his eyes, but the sound of the shrieking, pierces his brain – his mum and dad – no, don't think of that – no...And as if distant, he hears behind him, "Stop it! Can't you see it's bothering him?"

And the screaming stops, and he opens his eyes and swallows. His hands are shaking.

He takes a deep and shuddering breath and sits down.

Later, after class, the professor apologizes gruffly, gives him a cup of tea, and presents him with a book on aquatic herbs, telling him to keep it. He stuffs the book deep into his bag and resolves not to ever read it.

But a while later, he pulls it out again. _Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs. _It's an old book, with that musty smell to it. The illustrations are faded but intricate. A flash of memory – the spider – but he blinks, opening the book to a random page. Mandrakes. Mentioned in passing in a paragraph on some other herb – he doesn't notice what…

He smiles faintly at the memory of his first encounter with the plant. He had passed out, yes, but later, when he approached the professor to apologize and perhaps even tell her about his garden back home (his grandmother disapproved, of course, but she couldn't stop the plants from growing, could she?), she smiled and patted him on the head, saying, "We'll make a Herbologist of you yet, young man."

He smiles again and turns to another page. Gillyweed. Interesting…and he could probably find some around Hogwarts. The lake, after all, _is_ right there.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll get his boots, and his bucket, and during his free period, he'll find some gillyweed.

He lets out a small and contented sigh, almost unnoticeable, and absorbs himself in the book.

Later, when he visits his parents in St. Mungo's, he thinks of the looping and curling of fronded devilkelp. And it becomes easier to hold back the tears.


	2. Chapter 2

2 - Ron

"Now, put your right hand on my waist."

He blinks. "Whaa?" It's a strangled sort of noise, and he glances around a bit before realizing that it was him.

The class breaks out into laughter, and he feels a blush start somewhere at the level of his ears. He gulps.

McGonagall takes his hand and places it on…her waist. He resolves not to move that hand _at all_ during this stupid – bloody – dance class.

He tries not to pay attention to the snickers around the room as McGonagall half-drags him around the floor.

The music…just concentrate on the music, don't look at her, don't look at her (that's easy since you got that growth spurt, right? Just don't look into her eyes)

And it's awkward.

And worst of all, Fred and George take every opportunity that comes up to remind him:

"Awful, isn't he?"

"Yes, a great bloody failure."

"Couldn't even get McGonagall.

"And we've heard she's –

"Easy!"

Or:

"One-Two-Three, ickle Ronniekins!"

"Hand on the waist, right?"

He hopes they'll forget soon. But George and Fred never forget a good joke.

He supposes he'll have to deal with it. Fred and George are his brothers, and, well, they always will be.


	3. Chapter 3

3 - Fleur

She walks – the rustling of the hedges is savage, following her, she's sure of it, but she will not let that stop her.

She hears her own breathing, a bit ragged. She concentrates on slowing it, remembering that panic is the first step to defeat; a Beauxbatons _étudiante_ must always be calm and in control of herself.

But as she slows in her pace, she hears something else. Like…breathing. Someone else's deep and slow breaths, menacing and – and getting closer.

She turns quickly, glancing all around. But she is alone. Alone in the mist that swirls and twines around her feet.

Suddenly, the hedge walls seem to shudder, to shiver as if they will close around her. The air, the space between the walls of the labyrinth, everything seems tighter and more confined.

Quickening her pace, she comes to a fork. Left? Or right? Right. _Le droit c'est droit_. Right is right.

And the breathing…it remains, on the edge of her hearing, but still there. There is no one there, she tells herself. _Personne est là. _

She turns. A dead end, shocking in its dark and rustling bulk.

And there are footsteps. Behind her. She whirls around, the mist echoing her movement.

No one.

She starts to run now, feeling the beating of her heart grow louder, the panic rising beyond her control…

A shout, and something – a spell strikes her with a flash. She falls, immobilized, into the faint fog.

She can see but not blink, feel but not touch the crawling tendrils that even now wrap around her. The panic wheels into terror.

A figure advances and comes into focus.

Krum! He – but something's different about him. The words of Dumbledore come back to her: "_People change in the maze._"

Krum's eyes are glazed over somehow. Everything in her body screams for her to _get away_, get away from him, but she cannot move.

Krum crouches over her, light glowing from his wand. There is a blank and hungry look in his eyes…she cannot get away, and he bends closer…the terror clutches at her…

And that is all she remembers before falling, falling into the blackness of unconsciousness and the endless snaking vines of the labyrinth.


End file.
